


If Only In My Dreams

by MarcellaBianca



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Awesome Howling Commandos, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Captain America: The First Avenger, Christmas, Desperation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Hurt Bucky Barnes, M/M, POV Steve Rogers, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Steve, Rutting, Soft Stucky Week 2016, Steve Rogers-centric, Wall Sex, World War II, post-azzano
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 20:29:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8910895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarcellaBianca/pseuds/MarcellaBianca
Summary: Bucky sits down on the bed. It looks clean, but threadbare. Like no one’s been taking care of this place in a while. Bucky looks the same. “I don’t know what to talk to you about, Steve.” His voice sounds like an apple rotting at the edges. Steve doesn’t move to sit although his body screams at him to do so. He just looks at the brunet with questions in his heart. “You can talk to me about anything, Bucky. You know that. The weather, Christmas Eve, the Dodgers. Anythin’ you like.”“How am I supposed to talk about the fucking Dodgers?” Bucky snaps. His knuckles curve into the fabric of his pants hard enough to go white. “How can I talk about anything normal again?”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StrangerInAStrangePlace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrangerInAStrangePlace/gifts).



> A gift for StrangerInAStrangePlace for her birthday! YAY BIRTHDAY! She's as much Stucky trash as I am, so she requested post-Azzano, angsty, porn-with-feelings Stucky. I am only too happy to provide. I also threw in some Christmas stuff because I am a sucker for Stucky Christmas fic.
> 
> This is another entry of mine for Soft Stucky Week.

 

London is fucking cold at night. 

Steve figures it’s because he now runs hot due to the serum, but he rarely gets a chill anymore. Now, even Captain America feels the bite of English winter wind as it whistles through the tents and along the windowpanes. Falsworth tells him he’s used to it, much to the annoyance of the other Commandos. 

When Dugan suggests they head over to that pub for some ceasefire pints on Christmas Eve after they get some leave time, he jumps. Sure he can’t get drunk anymore, but whiskey still puts some extra warmth in his bones. 

He looks over at Bucky. He’s standing guard at the perimeter of the camp, as he has been for days now. It’s been three weeks since Azzano and Bucky’s pretty much good as new, despite the extent of some of those cuts and bruises. Steve has a sick feeling in his gut that they didn’t just torture him with physical hits. He won’t ask about it, because he knows Bucky won’t say boo. He’ll just give him a sad sort of smile and shrug, the way he always does when Steve asks him anything. He does it when Steve asks him about coming out for a drink. Something in Steve’s guts aches.

Morita managed to find a radio – an actual, music-playing radio, not one for missions - so Dernier and Gabe are jimmying around with it at one of the tables. Morita says he got it from an abandoned farmhouse out near Cambridge. Dugan thinks he stole it, but there’s a twinkle in his eye when he makes the accusation. They finally get some semblance of music on the radio, a scratchy Christmas tune.

They’re two pints in when Steve notices Bucky standing at the doorway. Constantly on alert. He pushes away from the table. 

“You can stand down, Sergeant,” he says, trying to be chipper. Lacing his tone with a bit of a joking order. “We’re on leave for the next two days. Probably the only break we’ll get. And it’s Christmas Eve.”

“Yeah. Christmas Eve.” Bucky’s eyes don’t leave the horizon. He doesn’t seem to notice the cold air buffeting his suit jacket. 

“Get out of the doorway at least and have a drink with me?” 

“I don’t think that’s smart, Stevie,” Bucky murmurs, loud enough for only Steve to hear. Steve’s heart _aches_ at that familiar name. He hasn’t heard it since before Bucky shipped out. Since rescuing Bucky, all he’s heard is “Steve” or “Cap.” Let alone any of the other names Bucky has for Steve. _Sugar. Babydoll. Honey. Daddy._

Steve knows it’s selfish to want those endearments back in the midst of so much hell. 

He jerks his head towards the stairs. “There’re rooms on the top floor. We should talk.”

Bucky rolls his shoulders hard enough that the left one pops. “Yeah. Okay.”

No one gives them a glance (Captain America can do whatever the fuck he wants, even in Britain) and the second the door latches behind him, Steve leans up against the uneven wood, crosses his arms. “You gonna talk to me?”

Bucky sits down on the bed. It looks clean, but threadbare. Like no one’s been taking care of this place in a while. Bucky looks the same. “I don’t know what to talk to you about, Steve.” His voice sounds like an apple rotting at the edges. Steve doesn’t move to sit although his body screams at him to do so. He just looks at the brunet with questions in his heart. “You can talk to me about anything, Bucky. You know that. The weather, Christmas Eve, the Dodgers. Anythin’ you like.”

“How am I supposed to talk about the fucking Dodgers?” Bucky snaps. His knuckles curve into the fabric of his pants hard enough to go white. “How can I talk about anything normal again?” 

Steve’s heart can’t take much more of this, but he has to know. “What did they do to you in there?” 

Bucky looks up and Steve is glad the door is there to support him, otherwise his knees would’ve given out at the terror bleeding out of Bucky’s eyes. “They took me apart, Steve,” he murmurs. “Is that what you want to know? Want to know that they injected me with all of this… _poison_ ,” he spits, shoulders hunching up like a cat in a bath. “I can’t get drunk. I can’t feel much pain. I can’t feel much of anything.”

Eyes wild now, Bucky stands up and begins to pace. “I don’t know what they put into me but it made me different. It made me something else…I don’t know what I am but I don’t think it’s good.” 

“Buck, you don’t think I feel that way sometimes?” Steve queries, trying to keep his voice even and succeeding for the most part. “And I chose to get that shit pumped into me. You didn’t have a choice.” Now the moments after Steve rescued Bucky come back to the blond in painful clarity. _“Did it hurt?” “A little.” “Is it permanent?” “So far.”_

“Yeah, and you come in here, looking like a goddamn Greek god, and you sweep me off a table and carry me back to camp and expect everything to be okay, and it isn’t, and it won’t be for a long fucking time,” Bucky scrapes out. His entire body looks like a cable about to snap, but Steve can hear the trembling in his voice. 

“If you don’t want me anymore, I understand,” he says, before he can really make sense of what he’s actually saying. Bucky looks up again, the color draining out of his face. “Wait, what? Jesus Christ, Stevie – “ and he’s up, closing the distance between the two of them until he’s a foot away from Steve, effectively trapping him between Bucky’s body and the door. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 “If you don’t want me because of how things have changed, how I’ve changed and what you’ve been through, it’s okay.” It’s really, really not, but Steve is a pretty good liar now. “I get it. You haven’t…you haven’t talked to me since Azzano, you never touch me, you never say anything to me, sweet or no. I don’t know what’s going on, but I think it’s because you don’t like all of this-“ he gestures to his broad shoulders, his massive chest – “and I want you to know it’s okay. I’d be surprised by it too.” He wants to take Bucky into his arms and hug him to tell him it’s okay, to tell him he won’t be sad despite the crystalline shattering in his heart. “Just because I still want you doesn’t mean you have to want me. S’ok.” 

There’s a long silence. Bucky breathes in and out, the sound growing more desperate. He looks down at the floor and back up, and Steve suppresses a gasp. Bucky’s pupils are nearly blown out with urgency, lashes wet with unshed tears. “You still want _me_ , Stevie?” 

Everything clicks into place like the barrel of a shotgun. 

“Fuck, yes, oh _shit_ , c’mere-“ Steve lurches forward, presses his lips against Bucky’s. He wants to be gentle, knows that Bucky is within his rights to throw him off and sock him in the jaw. There’s a split second of shock and then, _then_ , Bucky’s mouth is opening up under his. When Steve’s tongue breaches Bucky’s lips a broken, whining sound comes from deep within the brunet’s throat. Steve’s entire body burns up hot like a bonfire, threatening to consume them both. 

“Baby, baby, baby, Stevie,” Bucky moans between kisses. He plants them all over Steve’s face, jaw, neck, while Steve makes short work of Bucky’s shirt and belt. The bruising and scars are all but gone but there are still traces of pink raised skin along his collarbone and chest. Steve breaks the kisses off to trace the lines of the scarring with his lips. Bucky trembles slightly beneath his mouth but doesn’t throw him off. 

Steve doesn’t even notice Bucky’s got his pants open until he feels the heel of the brunet’s hand pressing against his crotch.. 

“Fuck,” Bucky swears, pressing down harder, using his other hand to reach around and cup the swell of Steve’s ass. “Babydoll. I missed this so much – didn’t think you’d want to – didn’t think you’d want me –“

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Steve rasps. He thrusts his hips up to meet the pressure from Bucky’s palm as his own hands rip open Bucky’s fly to dive inside, to find that blood hot hardness against his own skin. “James Barnes, you are the dumbest man alive if you think there’s a single thing in the world that could make me not want you – can’t even _breathe_ right without you –“ he moves his hands out of Bucky’s pants so he can yank his own underwear down before he grasps on to Bucky’s ass, pulls them flush together. His cock, already rock hard, bobs between them before it brushes up against Bucky’s own and Steve lets out a loud groan at the sensitive meeting of flesh. Bucky slams his hand against Steve’s mouth to shut him up.

They grind together desperately against the door. It squeals violently in protest. Steve knows he’s not built to last long – after the serum he’s developed a quick trigger, but he’ll be ready to go again shortly. Bucky, on the other hand – “Buck, gon’ come if you don’t stop,” he hisses. Bucky shakes his hand, rolls his hips. “Can’t make it to the bed – can’t and _won’t,_ need it – touch me, Stevie – please-“

“Okay, okay, yeah,” Steve stammers, feeling like he’s 16 years old again with nothing but spit and prayers to get through the awkward fumblings with Bucky under that blanket in his Ma’s apartment, praying she wouldn’t walk in early from her hospital shift at the TB ward. 

Neither man knows how they end up in an ungraceful pile on the floor with Steve on top of Bucky, but they get there. Bucky grabs Steve’s palm and licks a long, wet stripe before wrapping it around both of their cocks. Had Steve any time at all he’d do this right, stretch it out and make it last so they can treasure every moment, but there is no time for such luxuries here. He goes hard and furious, using his hips to piston the friction along with his fist. Bucky writhes like a holy exorcism underneath him. Steve uses his other hand to pin Bucky’s down against the floor, lacing their fingers together. A promise. 

His mouth finds Bucky’s again and again, whispering hot and filthy things against that wet, sinful mouth, things he wants to do, things he’s dreamed about doing, how much he loves this, how good Bucky is, how _perfect_ , how much he _loves_ him - 

Bucky lets out a sob. The exploding light at the base of his spine leaves Steve hunched over, shaking and breathless as he comes with his face buried in Bucky’s chest to block out his cries. Bucky twitches and tumbles over the edge underneath him with a soundless twitch of his hip, mouth open in an “O” that Steve gratefully gets his head up early enough to see. The world collapses into brilliant colors behind Steve’s eyes – he was a little colorblind before the serum, and can see perfectly now, but right now, seeing the ecstasy on Bucky’s face, everything seems more crisp and infinitely more beautiful.

His asthma was taken away too, but this is the moment that always leaves him breathless. 

Before he can say anything else Bucky’s flipped both of them over, crawls down Steve’s stomach. He swallows down his still softening cock, sucks it clean. The touch of that magic tongue on sensitive skin makes Steve’s back arch. Bucky milks every last drop left in Steve’s dick before kneewalking his way back up to kiss Steve’s lips, letting Steve taste himself on Bucky’s tongue. Steve frames Bucky’s face with his hands, deepening the kiss, making it filthy, letting their legs tangle together.

They are quiet for a moment. 

“I love you,” Steve says finally, when he can remember how to speak. 

“God, I love you.” Bucky’s voice is a little raw around the edges, like he’s holding in more tears. “And I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d want me after….all this shit.” 

“I told you, you’re an idiot,” Steve shushes, dipping his head to kiss the underside of Bucky’s jaw. “I’ll love you forever. No getting rid of me that easily. You’re like a bee that keeps hanging around.” 

Bucky lets out a long, shuddery exhale, like he’s been holding it in for weeks. But he smiles. “Does that mean you’re sweet like honey?”

“It can mean whatever you want it to mean,” Steve grins. 

“Well, you’re my sugar, so I guess it works.”

 _Sugar._ It sends a glow to Steve’s bones, better than any whiskey. 

They can hear the music wafting out from the bar below, amidst all the talking and laughing.

_I’ll be home for Christmas, you can count on me_

_Please have snow and mistletoe and presents under the tree_

“I bet Ma Barnes has a ton of presents all wrapped up for you at home,” Steve says quietly. Bucky nods, his jaw going tight again. “She’s probably got some for you, too.” 

They hold each other on that rickety floor as the promises in the song float up to the sky. 

“Merry Christmas, Buck.” 

“Merry Christmas, Stevie.” 

_Christmas Eve will find me where the love light gleams_

_I’ll be home for Christmas if only in my dreams._

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> The term "Daddy" was actually used in a non-kinky way by gay men in the 1930s and 40s to refer to their partners. There's a precedent for everything!
> 
> COMMENTS GIVE ME ENERGY.
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr!](http://marciellaniello.tumblr.com)


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